


Rivaini Guilt

by HeroMaggie



Series: Anders Needs Hugs [10]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Guilt, Hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 04:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2335856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie/pseuds/HeroMaggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela talks to Varric about the guilt she feels after Marian Hawke fights the Arishok for her freedom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rivaini Guilt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feanor_in_leather_pants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feanor_in_leather_pants/gifts).



> This is set in my Griffon and Hawk story. Written for a hug request!

Isabela took a deep gulp of ale, grimaced at the sour notes settling on her tongue, and slammed the mug down on the table. Over a half a dozen mugs decorated the rickety surface, all empty. She gazed into the newest empty mug and waved her hand, Nora meandering over to her table.

“Whaddya need?” Nora blew a hair out of her face and squinted at Isabela.

“Bottle of whiskey. And not that wood polish Corff pawns off as whiskey. I want the real deal.” She waved a few coins at Nora to reiterate her point.

Nora simply sniffed and flounced back to the bar. Isabela watched her gesture over at her and Corff nod, reaching under the bar to pull out an unlabeled brown bottle. Nora nabbed it and a cleanish glass, slouched back to Isabela, and slammed the glass and bottle on the table.

Isabella just wrinkled her nose at Nora and used her teeth to uncork the bottle. The smell of oak and spice hit her noise. She poured two fingers worth into a glass and downed it, shook her head, and slammed the glass down on the table.

“Well then Rivaini. I had wondered where you'd gotten up to after leaving Hawke's.” Varric sidled into view and took a seat at her table. “Been here a while, I see.”

“Piss off Varric.” Isabela slurred a bit at him. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I said...piss off.”

“What's eating you, sweetheart?” He leaned back in his chair and took in her pale face and glassy eyes. “You look like somebody's just sunk your boat.”

“Somebody did sink my boat, Varric.” Isabela poured more whiskey, downing it quickly. “Don't have a boat to sink.” Her sigh was morose.

Varric scrunched up his nose and then nabbed the bottle of whiskey. “Come on.”

“Hey! That's my bottle!” Isabela lunged for it, nearly nabbing it from the dwarf. She straightened and shot him a glare. “Give it back.”

“Up to my room, Rivaini. We need to talk.” He stood and started walking towards the stairs.

Isabela gave a huff of displeasure, stood, and carefully followed him.

 

***

Varric had put her whiskey on the table and had added a bottle from his own private reserve, plus two clean glasses. Isabela eyed him warily as she sat, her eyes taking in the whiskey, the glasses, and his face. Varric was usually smiling. Usually jovial. Usually had twinkling eyes and was a hairs breadth from spilling out some bullshit story. But not right now. Right now his face was a mask of concern.

For her.

She took it in, the concern and worry, and slumped forward. Her head hit the table and she just stayed there, her eyes closed and her breath starting to heave. For a moment she was drowning in regret, in worry, in self-hate and then she felt a warm hand pressing between her shoulder blades. She turned her face and saw chest hair. The warm hand made her sniffle. Him pulling her up and into a very gentle embrace made the dam burst.

Isabela didn't wail when she cried. She didn't sob openly. She wasn't loud. She shook quietly as tears coursed down her face. She gritted her teeth. She held back the noises of pain and just shivered. Even though she was quiet, he made soft shushing noises as his hands rubbed firm circles over her back.

When she was done, when her tears had dried up and she was simply sniffling softly, he let her go and poured her a drink.

“Tell me.” Was all he said.

“You saw her. Laying there in bed with the bandages wrapped around her, her skin all pasty white or that ghastly purple/green where that bastard punched her. You saw how Anders looked, all stretched and tight and tired. I did that. I did that to her.” Isabela's shoulders slumped.

“The Arishok did that to her, sweetheart. Not you.”

“I took the book. If she'd just have let them take me...”

“You know Hawke. You matter to her. And if you matter, she's not going to let anybody have you.”

“But WHY? Why me? I'm not worth that!”

“Bullshit, Rivaini. That's utter bullshit. You made a mistake. But you made it right. And you've been there for her. When she went with me into the Deep Roads. When her brother decided to join the templars. When her mother died. You were there for her. There was no way she'd let the Arishok touch you. She loves you to pieces.” Varric glared at her. “She may have gotten dinged up, and I'd like nothing more than to kick that piece-of-shit Arishok again for what he did to her, but it wasn't anything she wasn't willing to go through.”

“I just...can't...stand it. Nobody has ever...nobody has ever done anything like that for me.” Isabela stared at her hands, her fingers shaking.

“Yeah, well. Hawke is one-of-a-kind. Look, Rivaini. You should at least wait till she's conscious before you decide what you're going to do. Ask her why. I bet she'll tell you it's because she loves you and you're her friend.”

Isabela scrunched up her nose and sighed, “Alright Varric. Alright.” She poured herself some more whiskey, staring into the amber liquid with tired eyes, “You come here looking for me?”

“Maybe Hawke's not the only one who is fond of you,” Varric said, pouring himself some whiskey. “Who else will I go to when I need help writing those very popular friendfics?”

Isabela's lips quirked into a half-smile, “Yeah, that prissy Aveline? You need me for my dirty mind and keen eye.”

Varric laughed and downed his whiskey, “And your ability to play Wicked Grace. Now, what do you say about a few hands?” He pulled out a deck of cards and tapped them on the table.

Isabela leaned back in her seat and took in Varric. She was still feeling some guilt over Hawke, but seeing Varric's smile seemed to settle something twisty in her gut. She poured herself another whiskey and downed it in one smooth go, “You're on, Varric. Loser has to tell an embarrassing story.”

“You're on there, Rivaini. Hope you're ready to sing for me.”

“Not on your life, Varric. Now deal me in.”


End file.
